


In a Tight Spot

by Goldy



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Humor, Post-Time Skip, Sexual Tension, season 5 speculation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:21:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28436055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goldy/pseuds/Goldy
Summary: Post time jump. Betty and Jughead are forced to hide in a pantry. Betty brought pepper spray. Repost from tumblr.
Relationships: Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones
Comments: 6
Kudos: 33





	In a Tight Spot

Jughead’s right hip is wedged uncomfortably between two shelves and his left foot rests precariously on top of a flour storage container. Pins and needles are breaking out along his right leg which is supporting most of his weight. He gives into the temptation to shift up and down—and immediately regrets it as the top of his head bangs against the top shelf of the pantry.

He recoils—only now he bangs up against Betty who stumbles and swears audibly under her breath. In the dim light, he can barely make out her arms reaching blindly in the air to try and steady herself. Finally, she manages to find her footing. Except now he is pressed firmly up against her—his chest smashed against her side, her hair tickling his nose.

This is bad for entirely other reasons—most of all because now all he can think about is how _soft_ she feels and how good her hair smells and how close his lips are to the back of her neck and—

“What are you _doing_?” she hisses at him.

This time, she is the one who shifts, and her elbow digs painfully into his ribcage. He nearly goes flying backwards, and manages to steady himself by leaning heavily against her side.

He tries to rub at his chest, realizes that he cannot lift his arms without ruining the precarious balance and equilibrium they have found themselves in, and lets his arms hang awkwardly by his sides.

“My leg was falling asleep,” he says defensively.

“ _Shh!!”_ she says, which Jughead thinks is rude, given that _she_ was the one who asked him what he had been doing.

Then he hears it—outside, footsteps, and the creak of a floorboard.

 _Shit_.

Betty starts shifting around, her elbow once again jabbing into him in new and painful ways. He bites his lip to keep from groaning aloud. Then with a soft “ _aha!_ ” she emerges with…

“Is that pepper spray?”

She turns around—or _tries_ to turn around, and he is suddenly _very_ aware of how her breasts are now mashed up against his upper arm before she whispers, “Yes.”

Her mouth is close enough to his ear that he feels the soft puff of her breath against his neck. He swallows heavily, his voice somewhat raspy when he responds, “But… _why_?”

“In case they open the door!” Betty says slowly, like maybe his brain has grown dimwitted in the seven years they have been apart.

He eyes with growing trepidation the way she struggles to hold the pepper spray up in the tight space of the pantry, her arm swaying far too much for his liking.

“Aren’t you in the FBI?” he says desperately. “Is this even legal? Don’t they have anything more, I don’t know, modern they could give you? Like a gun?”

“I have one of those, too,” says Betty impatiently. “But obviously that would draw too much attention in this situation.”

“Obviously,” says Jughead.

“It’s non-lethal,” Betty continues, “whoever this person—this _thing_ is, we need them alive for questioning.” Her voice softens. “Besides, pepper spray helped me out of a lot of tough situations back in the day.”

Before he can respond to that, the sound of footsteps grows louder and closer. He sucks in a breath moments before the pantry door is yanked open and light floods into their hideaway.

He stares open-mouthed at the person—the _thing_ —staring in at them. It has beady red eyes, long ears, and shapes on its back that look like wings. Betty pulls the lever on her pepper spray. The being shouts in surprise and writhes away in pain as the pepper spray floods into its eyes and nose.

“Come on!” Betty yells. She grabs his arm and yanks him forward, Jughead stumbling over his feet as he struggles to keep up with her.

They only stop running when they have safely put a few blocks between themselves and that… that…. whatever that thing was.

“What the hell was that?” Jughead cries.

Betty looks entirely too smug and proud of herself as she recaps her pepper spray and then places it casually in her bag. “Someone in a costume. Maybe they’re part of a cult. Or trying to re-create the glory days of some of Riverdale’s most notorious killers. I knew they were in this part of town. I _knew_ it.”

“Betty, it had large black wings.”

“The Gargoyle King had horns,” Betty points out reasonably. She shifts her bag to her other shoulder. “Well,” she says in a business-like tone, “thanks for, you know….”

“Breaking and entering and almost getting caught and hiding in a pantry with you?” says Jughead. His cheeks suddenly feel warm. He hopes that she does not see him blushing in the bright afternoon sun.

She opens her mouth, hesitates, and then closes it again like she thought better of what she was about to say. He feels a pang. His mind drifts back to being trapped with her in the pantry—his chest against her side, the feel of her breasts brushing against his arm, the soft puff of breath along the shell of his ear…. He almost shivers despite the sun beating down on them.

“Well, I appreciate it,” she finally says, almost grudgingly. “It’s nice that we can work together like this. You know, like we used to.”

Now _she_ is the one blushing, and he feels something pleasant unfurl and tingle in his stomach. This version of Betty has seemed so in control, so on top of her life and career—almost distant, untouchable.

But maybe she has not changed as much as he first thought.

“Anytime, Betty Cooper. Anytime.”


End file.
